


Doing Our Jobs

by janezy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Season/Series 06, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-06 01:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8730022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janezy/pseuds/janezy
Summary: In which Daryl does not rejoin Sasha and Abraham in their mission to lead the quarry herd away from Alexandria.  Instead, he meets up with Rick and everything is different from then on out.AU set in Season 6, with information/spoilers from prior seasons as well as season 7 sprinkled in.This work is not finished, but I am currently working and will try to post a chapter every week.





	1. Chapter 1

Daryl keeps hearing gunfire coming from Alexandria as he barrels down the road on his rebuilt motorcycle toward home. He’s not totally sure if he’s hearing it for real or if it’s just in his head. Ever since Rick radioed about the gunfire, he’s been hearing it more and more. He pictures the people they left behind that morning. Carl and Ass-Kicker. Carol. Maggie. Who knows what’s happening to them now? Most of the strongest fighters were out dealing with the herd, so the community was not properly defended. Like that asshole Spencer would really be able to handle things. He’d fold in a minute flat if anything got hairy. Everyone knows he ain’t got it. 

Then Daryl starts feeling guilty for leaving Sasha and Abraham. Rick said that going back is selfish. Like the two of them can’t handle keeping their half of that herd in line without him. Fuck Rick for getting in his head like this. They each had a job to do when this was a controlled plan. It’s totally out of fucking control now. Half the herd is headed straight for their new home. Why the hell would Rick want three seasoned fighters just driving when two would get it done just as well? Rick’s all for improvising when it’s him giving the orders. He’s going to have figure out how to be okay with Daryl doing the same. Daryl pushes the engine faster and feels the additional speed kick in.

Then he hears gunshots that chill him to his core. These aren’t from Alexandria. And they definitely aren’t in his head. They’re coming over the damn walkie talkie. They’re coming from Rick’s location. He pulls over and tries to raise Rick, desperately calling his name over the walkie. If Rick thinks he’s going to ignore that shit, he’s got another think coming. If anything happens to that asshole, Daryl isn’t sure what he’ll do. Rick might be a crazy bastard, but he’s **their** crazy bastard. Daryl kicks the bike back into gear and takes off.

A few minutes later, the RV comes into view in the distance, three bodies on the ground next to it. He can’t tell from this distance if one of them is Rick. He can’t even tell if the bodies are humans or walkers, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it. Walkers are starting to pour out of the woods, headed straight for town. Then, Rick bursts out of the RV and starts running. Daryl guns the engine again, calling Rick’s name.

Rick looks over, fear and desperation in his eyes, and changes direction immediately. Most of the walkers plodding after him follow, though some drop to their knees to begin devouring the bodies lying on the road.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Rick asks, hopping on the back of the bike and swinging an arm around Daryl’s ribs.

“Good thing I don’t never listen to ya, huh?” Daryl says, turning the bike back the way he’d come. “Careful for the bow.”

“Okay,” Rick says, scooting a little closer to move away from Daryl’s crossbow hooked on to the back of the seat.

“Still got the flares?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah,” Rick says, trading his Python for the flare gun and shooting a round into the distance in front of them. He turns to see if the walkers were following. Many of them are, but not all. “Why aren’t you with Sasha and Abraham?”

“‘Cause the two of them can handle that part of the mission by themselves. And you could obviously use the help,” Daryl replies shortly. He’s annoyed that he was able to so spot on predict that Rick would be mad at him for breaking rank even though they both know it had to be done.

“Hold up a sec,” Rick says, hopping off the bike when it slows to a crawl. He runs back and forth in the road, whooping for the walkers to follow him if they want a good dinner. He shoots a couple that get too close, then rejoins Daryl on the bike. “Let’s go.”

Daryl glances in the rearview and sees that several hundred walkers are indeed following behind them. And he knows that there are even more behind them that he can’t see. There were thousands in that quarry. They ride in silence for a bit, allowing the noise of the bike to draw the dead in. Daryl keeps running Rick’s words over and over in his head until he’s fought with him enough in his brain to allow himself to actually say something out loud. “What was your big plan, then?” he asks in an irritated tone. “The one I ruined?”

“This was pretty much it, actually,” Rick admits a bit sheepishly. “I was gonna draw them off in the RV. But, it came under attack and I ended up shooting up the fuel line, I guess.”

“Who attacked you? Walkers?”

“Naw, they were alive. Those W people, I think. They came from Alexandria. I think the town is in real trouble,” Rick said, unconsciously tightening his grip around Daryl’s middle. Rick thinks about his children and hopes like hell he’s wrong.

“Don’t worry,” Daryl says, faking confidence he doesn’t feel. It is always easier to put on a show for Rick’s sake than for his own. “Carol’s there. And Maggie. And Rosita. And Carl can take care of himself and Judith. It’ll be okay. We all have a job to do, right?”

“Right,” Rick says. “I’ma try and get a hold of ‘em again. No one from town’s answered in a while.” He takes out his walkie and presses the button. “Glenn? Tobin? Sasha? Can anyone hear me?”

The silence stretches on uncomfortably, but then the walkie springs to life unexpectedly, a lot of static over the line. “We got you,” Abraham’s voice says.

“Thank God,” Rick answers, relief heavy in his voice that at least one part of this plan is working. “What’s going on?”

After a long pause, Abraham’s voice comes back. “We’re still driving. We’ve got about 10 more miles to go. What’s your 20?”

“Daryl and I are on his bike trying to get the back half of the herd back on track,” Rick says, chancing another look backwards and seeing the hundreds of walkers still following behind.

“So he caught up to you, then?” Abraham says, sounding a bit surprised.

“Yeah,” Rick says shortly, not wanting to get into it then. There will be plenty of time for recriminations later when they’re all home, safe and sound. “How fast are y’all going? We don’t want to run into the back of your half and be surrounded.”

“Sasha’s keeping it under five miles per hour, like we planned. Otherwise we’ll get too far away and they might start peeling off. If you’re worried about it, why don’t you take another route?”

“There’s no way we’ll get them all to make a sharp turn,” Rick says, trying to remember the maps in his head. “Have you already passed the intersection where 16 splits off at that fork?”

“Yeah,” Abraham says tentatively. Rick hears rustling over the radio. “Let me get out my map. Yeah,” he repeats more certainly. “We passed that Y turn-off with 16 about . . . eh . . .”

“Twenty minutes ago,” Sasha’s voice cuts in. “We took the left part of the fork. You take the right and you should be good to go.”

“What she said,” Abraham says, laughing slightly.

“Roger that,” Rick says. “We’ll take 16 at the fork. Radio us back when you get to your turn-off point. We’ll have to figure out a different way home.”

“We hear you, brother,” Abraham agrees. “Best of luck to you.”

“Same to you,” Rick says and puts the radio back in the holder attached to his belt.

“That’s gonna be a tough go,” Daryl says a bit quietly. “Gettin’ them to turn onto 16.”

“Don’t see as we got much choice,” Rick says, checking backward again. “It’s that or we run the risk of running smack into the stragglers from the back of the herd they’re driving.”

“I know. It’s just not gonna be easy.”

“We still have two flares,” Rick says, thinking out loud. “And I’ll hop off again and we can make a buncha noise. You can gun the engine.”

“Not sure on that last part,” Daryl admits. “We’re runnin’ a bit low on gas.”

“How did that happen?” Rick asks, disbelieving. 

“Well, we weren’t supposed to be doin’ this today,” Daryl says in his defense, “so I didn’t have her gassed all the way up. And my detour to pick up your sorry ass hasn’t helped.”

“So we’re not gonna make it?” Rick asks. After all this, they just had to be able to finish the job somehow.

“We’ll make it,” Daryl reassures him. “I just ain’t sure we’ll make it **back**.”

“We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it, I guess,” Rick says, resigned. 

They descend into silence once again. Daryl concentrates on driving. It’s challenging to keep the bike upright while going so slowly and with the additional weight of Rick clinging to his back. Daryl is surprised to think how much riding a motorcycle has become second nature to him. He never really did it much in the world before. Sometimes he would drive Merle’s Triumph home when his brother got too wasted to do it himself. But Daryl always preferred to drive in the pick-up. He’d saved a lot of money to buy that hunk of junk. 

Merle never really had solid jobs. He’d make pocket change dealing or hustling – even a small-time robbery once in a while – but he’d usually spend it all on drugs or booze right away. And since Daryl mostly just drifted with Merle, he couldn’t get a steady job, either. Though he’d rather pull in a few hundred under the table helping out at a construction site or landscaping for a couple of days than make money the way Merle did. Daryl never liked the way it made him feel, knowing that they were hustling money or stealing from people that maybe had kids at home to take care of. And he never wanted to end up in jail like Merle. His brother seemed to spend as much time in jail as out of it, pulling 6-month or longer stints for possession or assault more than once. But the upside was that whenever Merle wasn’t around, Daryl could stay in one place and find a job for a while. He didn’t have his high school diploma, but most small-town mechanic shops didn’t care about that. They’d just let him audition by doing the job for a day and, if he passed muster, they’d let him stay on. The last time it happened, Daryl scrimped and saved to buy an old Ford pick-up and got the owner of the shop he was working at to agree to let him work on it there in his spare time if he paid for parts. 

He’d been sorry to see that truck go, abandoned way back before the Greene farm. Though before long, he’d gotten used to riding Merle’s bike instead. In some ways it was a stupid, risky thing to do. Being on a motorcycle left him open to walker attacks on all sides. But, it was far easier to maneuver around obstacles in the road and he relished the opportunity to prove his worth to the group, scouting ahead to help pick the safest route for their caravan. And it had been all he had left of Merle.

He isn’t as used to riding with someone, though. Rick’s arm is around his stomach, gripping tightly, and he can feel Rick’s solid weight aligned with every inch of his back. Rick is so sweaty that it has seeped through Daryl’s vest and shirt, wetting his own back. It should be disgusting, but Daryl finds he really doesn’t mind. He files that away to think about later. He looks up and sees signs for Highway 16.

“The turn-off’s comin’ up,” Daryl says.

“I see it,” Rick says. “I’ll jump off at the fork and keep ‘em comin’ your way.” He starts preparing to get off the motorcycle.

“Wait!” Daryl says, reaching behind and grabbing around Rick’s back. “It ain’t safe to separate.”

“It ain’t safe not to,” Rick says logically. “One of us has to make sure they keep heading away from Alexandria. We didn’t go through all this to have them be drawn right back in.”

“We’re almost 10 miles out. It’ll be okay if we lose a couple.”

“If a couple veer off, they’re liable to take a few hundred with ‘em. I’ll be okay,” Rick assures, patting Daryl’s belly and hopping off the still-moving bike. “Keep goin’” he yells after Daryl. “I’ll run through the woods to catch up in a bit.”

“Crazy bastard,” Daryl mutters to himself. In the rearview, he sees Rick firing a flare down 16. Daryl starts channeling his inner Merle and belts out a Skynyrd song at the top of his lungs, honking his horn to the beat. The walkers continue following his bike. He looks into his mirror a couple of times to see Rick patrolling the turn-off and kicking and pushing any errant walkers back toward the right fork in the road, taking down any that don’t follow with a quick knife to the head. Soon, he gets too far away to see Rick, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from checking the mirror for him several times a minute. He slows the motorcycle as much as he dares to allow Rick time to catch back up. Of course, now the walkers are catching up, too. The wall of them at his back has filled in. If he were to stop now, he’d be overrun in a matter of seconds. He hears something crashing through the underbrush to his left and prepares to grab his crossbow in the back if need be. Thankfully, it’s just Rick that bursts out.

“What took you so long?” Daryl asks, pretending to be more irritated than relieved.

“Awww,” Rick answers, swinging easily back on the bike. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Of course I – ” Daryl starts, but stops himself. “You all right, then?”

“A couple new scrapes and bruises, but what else is new?” Rick answers easily. “How much farther?”

“You still aimin’ for 20 miles out from Green?” Daryl asks. At Rick’s affirmative grunt, he checks his odometer. “We got about 13 more miles, then. I ain’t too sure what road we’ll find to turn off on, though. We’ll have to play it by ear.”

“Three more hours,” Rick says, lamenting the fact that they won’t be able to get back to check on Alexandria for quite a while.

“They’re okay,” Daryl reassures. “They know how to do their jobs, remember?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Rick says, quietly first, then more forcefully. “Michonne and Glenn are probably back by now to help out, too. Maybe I should try them again.” Rick starts reaching for his walkie talkie, but Daryl reaches back to stop him.

“We’re outta range by now. No sense wastin’ the battery,” he says. While it’s probably true, part of Daryl is more concerned that Rick will panic if he still isn’t able to raise anyone. They need to stay focused on keeping the walkers moving.

“Right,” Rick says. After a few moments, he breathes in sharply like he just remembered something important. “Hey, was that ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ I heard you singing?” he asks.

“You heard that, huh?” Daryl says sheepishly, ducking his head. “I’m not sure what made me think of that. They were always more Merle’s thing than mine.”

“Well, whatever it was, it worked. You shoulda seen the way them walkers turned their heads to follow after your siren song,” Rick says, laughing.

“Yeah?” Daryl says, chuckling and shaking his head. “I’m sure they just wanted to follow and see what sorta dyin’ thing would make noise like that.”

“Hey,” Rick says sharply. “None a that. I happen to like your voice.”

“What?” Daryl asks, confused. “When have you ever heard me singin’?”

“I hear you over the baby monitor almost every night. You know Judith loves that lullaby you sing her.”

Daryl flushes even more. “It’s just the one Beth used ta sing to her. I thought . . .” Daryl trails off. He wasn’t sure what he thought, exactly. He didn’t want to let Beth go yet. Maybe he could keep her with them a little longer.

“It’s okay,” Rick says. “It’s nice you want Judith to remember her. We don’t hafta talk about it.”

Daryl marvels at Rick’s ability to seemingly read his mind. Sometimes, at least. Daryl actually counts himself lucky that Rick seems oblivious to most of Daryl’s less polite thoughts. He is embarrassed enough to find himself thinking about the shape of Rick’s face or the exact blue of his eyes or if he’s eating enough or if he’s happy. He doesn’t need to compound his embarrassment by having Rick know the frankly staggering amount of time Daryl puts in to thinking about him.

“How we doin’ on gas?” Rick asks, easily changing the topic.

Daryl examines the gas gauge and the odometer. “Like, half a gallon? Maybe a little more. Put it this way -- if we don’t get a chance to hook up with Sasha and the gas cans in her trunk, we’ll be pushin’ the bike home.”

“We?” Rick says jokingly. “Got got a squirrel in your pocket I don’t know about?”

“Very funny,” Daryl deadpans. “We got enough to get them more than 20 miles out. Beyond that . . .”

“I hear ya. I just want to finish this and get back as soon as we can.” Rick’s mood shifts abruptly as his thoughts turn to his children. To Michonne and Glenn. To Carol and Maggie. He needs to get home and put eyes on his people. He needs to know his family is okay.

Daryl just nods in understanding and they continue on, each lost in their own thoughts. A little over an hour later, the walkie springs to life, broadcasting Sasha’s call for Rick and Daryl. Rick gets out his radio and tells her to go on.

“We’ve made it safely past the 20 mile mark,” Sasha says. “We’re speeding up to put some distance between us and the herd and turning on Highway 642 like we planned.”

“Roger that,” Rick says. “We got most of the rest of the herd to follow us down 16. We got another hour or so to go. We’re gonna need you to turn right on 642 instead of left so’s we can meet up and come back together. We’re just about outta gas.”

“We can do that,” Sasha says. “Abraham, where can we meet ‘em?”

There is some rustling as Abraham examines his map and takes over the radio. “It looks like 16 connects right up with 642,” he says. “We’ll be waiting for you at the intersection.”

“Okay,” Rick agrees. “We’ll radio you if anything changes.”

“We’ll do the same,” Abraham says. “Good luck, brother.”

“Same to you,” Rick says, placing his radio back in its holster. He readjusts his grip on Daryl. “I think we are actually gonna get this done,” he adds as they crest a slight rise in the road.

On the other side of the rise, they can see more than half a dozen men on motorcycles riding toward them. Rick is just processing the fact that several have drawn handguns or shotguns when he hears Daryl exclaim “Shit!” and drive their cycle suddenly into the brush on the side of the road in a somewhat controlled fall. 

Daryl scrambles out from under the bike while the wheels are still spinning. He looks down at Rick, who is still lying flat, and yells “Get up!” He grabs Rick’s upper arm and drags him up before quickly grabbing his crossbow and a bag off the cycle and taking off running into the woods.

Rick follows immediately. “What the hell was that?!” he yells after Daryl’s back.

“Those assholes were gonna shoot us! And that was **before** they saw the thousand walkers behind us. Hopefully, they’re keepin’ each other busy enough that none of ‘em is followin’ us right now.”

Daryl finds some scrub brush and dashes behind it for cover, crossbow at the ready, to survey the area. Rick kneels down next to him and puts a hand on his side, catching his breath.

“So we’re just abandoning the bike?” Rick asks just above a whisper.

Daryl looks at him crossly and puts a finger to his lips. They watch for a bit and see no sign of the mysterious bikers or the walkers. Rick pulls his hand away from his side and hisses when he sees his palm is covered with blood. 

Daryl grabs his palm roughly and pulls it closer to him, raising Rick’s arm to see the extent of the rip in the fabric of his shirt and the bleeding that has seeped through the white of his shirt, turning his entire left side from his armpit down to his waist red. “What the hell, Rick!” Daryl whispers roughly, starting for the buttons on the other man’s shirt.

Rick slaps his hands away. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s not from the crash if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Daryl’s eyes bulge a bit as he tries to contain his anger. Like **that** is what he’s worried about. Rick knows better. He is just trying to divert Daryl’s attention. Daryl isn’t buying it and just continues staring Rick down.

Rick bows his head a bit sheepishly. “It was from before, when I was off the bike getting those walkers to follow us at the fork. I got into it with a couple in the woods right before we met back up.”

“That was hours ago! Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“What were we gonna do about it? It’s not like we could stop. Besides, I’m tellin’ ya, I’m fine.” Rick puts one hand to his side and groans lightly as he stands, starting to walk toward their meet-up point with Sasha and Abraham.

Daryl follows after much more gracefully. “Yeah, I can tell. We got time now. Just lemme look.”

“We ain’t got time,” Rick says shortly. He is limping a bit, clearly favoring his left side. “We have some combination of a thousand walkers and a dozen homicidal bikers lookin’ for us. We gotta find Sasha and Abraham and get the hell outta here. Or would you rather walk the twenty miles back home?”

Daryl rolls his eyes, holding back the numerous sarcastic comments he wants to make. 

Rick moves to takes the walkie talkie from his belt and notices that it’s missing. It must have gotten lost in the crash. “Where’s yours?” Rick asks, turning toward Daryl and making a gimme motion with his hand.

Daryl removes his from where it is still attached to his jacket and hands it over. Rick tries to turn it on, but nothing happens. He looks it over and sees several cracks in the casing. “God damnit!” he exclaims, throwing it to the ground. He starts to stalk off, but hisses and doubles over, breathing hard. 

Daryl stops, face colored with concern. “Whoa. Will you let me take a look now?”

“Fine,” Rick relents, backing himself against a tree and unbuttoning his shirt briskly. He whips off the left sleeve and raises his arm high quickly, then gasps a bit and lowers it a bit more gingerly.

As they all tend to be nowadays, Rick’s torso is littered with scrapes, bruises and cuts in various stages of healing. Daryl comes closer to examine the wound in question. It’s pretty deep, evidenced by the fact that it’s been almost two hours and hasn’t closed completely yet. Blood still seeps slowly from it in several places. 

“I didn’t think it was this bad,” Rick says, looking down and touching it gingerly. “I didn’t even notice it for a long time.”

“That was probably the adrenaline,” Daryl says, pushing Rick’s hands aside and beginning to probe the edges of the wound, watching even more blood and some other fluid leaking out.

But even more concerning, the edges are already red and puffy. And from the light touches, Daryl can tell Rick’s giving off heat like a furnace. “Jesus Christ, Rick,” Daryl says, reaching up to brush his hand over the man’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I am?” Rick says, looking a bit surprised. “I mean, we’ve been runnin’ around all day. It’s probably just that.”

Daryl narrows his eyes. “What scratched you?”

Rick’s eyes bulge a bit at the implication. “A tree, I think. A branch. I mean, I think that was what it was.”

“Are you sure?” Daryl asks, his voice edging toward desperation.

“Yeah,” Rick says with absolutely no confidence in his voice, eyes focusing on a point in the distance as he thinks through the encounter again.

Daryl turns away and paces a bit before turning back, then pacing off again. He puts a hand in his hair and pulls, hoping he can literally pull himself back together. “Okay,” he says as he turns back toward Rick. “We just gotta get you back to Alexandria and that new doctor lady can fix you up.” He removes Rick’s already ruined shirt and starts tearing it into pieces and tying them together. He wraps the makeshift bandage around Rick’s torso and knots it snugly over the worst part of Rick’s cut. He knows it’s little more than a band aid at this point, but he has to do something. Then he removes his vest and jacket to get to the plaid shirt he was wearing over his usual sleeveless shirt. He helps Rick into the plaid shirt and jacket.

“Now I know you were just lookin’ for an excuse to go sleeveless again,” Rick jokes, laughing weakly.

“Shut up,” Daryl replies without heat, finishing his work and buttoning Rick’s new shirt back up, but refusing to meet the leader’s eyes. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep faking this confidence if he looks at him.

Rick places his hands over Daryl’s where they’ve hesitated on the last button. “Now that we’ve stopped for a bit, I’m not feelin’ so hot. Maybe you should go on without me.”

Daryl looks up angrily. “I ain’t leavin’ you behind.”

“I ain’t sayin’ you should,” Rick says calmly, trying to ease Daryl’s temper. “Just maybe I wait here and you go get Sasha and Abraham and then come pick me up.”

Daryl thinks about all the people he’s separated from in the past and how often that means never seeing them again. “No. It ain’t safe. You’re in no state to defend yourself right now.”

“I’m in no state to run five miles, either.” Rick looks up at the sturdy branches of the tree he’s leaning against.

“You want me to leave you in a fuckin’ tree?” Daryl asks mockingly.

“It’s just for a little while,” Rick says.

Daryl knows how Rick gets when he gets an idea in his head. There is little anyone can do to change his mind. He decides they’d be better off if he just gave in now like he knew he would eventually. His time would be better spent trying to find Sasha and Abraham and getting Rick home as soon as possible. He kneels down and signals to Rick that he should climb over him to reach the lowest branch. “Fuckin’ asshole thinks he’s a fuckin’ monkey,” Daryl says under his breath, grunting as Rick puts his weight on Daryl’s shoulders.

Rick grunts a bit more himself as he scrambles up on to the branch. Once he settles, he throws Daryl’s vest and jacket down to him. “Just in case,” he says.

“In case a what?” Daryl says, though he knows what Rick is thinking. Rick knows how much his vest means to Daryl. But it sure doesn’t mean more than Rick.

“In case you get cold. The sun’s gonna set soon,” Rick says. “Better get goin’.”

“You’re the one’s gonna get cold, just sittin’ there,” Daryl replies and throws the coat back up to him. “I’m gonna be runnin’. ‘Sides, I’ll see you in a bit. Just . . .” Daryl hesitates, then looks Rick in the eye. “Take care of it for me.”

The _take care of yourself for me_ is left unsaid, but somehow they both hear it anyway. Daryl nods decisively and takes off at a jog.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is a gen-ish story, I'm taking some time this chapter to check in with some of the other characters. I'll probably keep doing that, but I promise no update will be complete without at least some Daryl and/or Rick.
> 
> Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

Sasha and Abraham pull up to the intersection of Highways 642 and 16 and, after doing a quick check for nearby walkers, they pull the car off to a slightly less obvious position to park.

“How long you think it’ll be before Rick and Daryl get here?” Abraham asks.

“Why?” Sasha says in a deadpan voice, leveling Abraham with a glare.  “You got someplace better to be?”

“Better than sitting out in the open just few ticks away from the thousands of walkers we dragged out here?  Yeah, I’d say so.”  Abraham looks out the window for a bit, then chuckles.

“What?” Sasha says, annoyed.

“I’m just thinking of all the shit that went wrong today, and here we still are, mission accomplished,” he says, grinning at her.

Sasha rolls her eyes.  “We’re not home yet, so you can save your celebrations.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Abraham says, running his fingers down his mustache.  “I feel you.  I’ll save the chicken-counting for later.”

Abraham looks out the window for a while and sees a small group of walkers nearing the car.  “I got it,” he says to Sasha, pointing to them.

“We don’t need to,” she says.

“I know,” he says, then smiles and dashes from the car.  He quickly takes two walkers out with his knife before knocking a third into a fourth with the butt of his rifle.  He is finishing off the group when he hears a motorcycle engine headed their way.

He dashes back to the car and ducks his head into the open window to talk to Sasha. “I think they’re here.”

“Already?” Sasha says, looking for Daryl’s motorcycle.  “If they were keeping it under five miles per hour, we would’ve had a longer wait.”

Abraham shrugs.  “Maybe Rick just wanted to get home and figured they went far enough.”

Then the motorcycles come into view and they realize that neither Daryl nor Rick is among the bunch.

“Fuck!” Abraham says, scrambling into the car.

“They seemed like they were in a hurry,” Sasha says, looking to where the bikers had continued down 16.  “Maybe they didn’t see us.”

“Or maybe they did,” Abraham says, pointing up the road at them as they start looping around and heading back.  “Go!  Go!  Go!”

Sasha starts up the car and guns it the way that they are already pointed.  They do not get far before they realize they are being followed.

The bikers pull out their guns and open fire on the car, taking out the back window.

“What the fuck?” Sasha exclaims.

“Faster, for fuck’s sake!” Abraham says.  “These are definitely the shoot first, ask questions maybe never kind of guys.”

The bikers continue firing on the car and Sasha starts swerving to make for a more difficult shot.  She veers off the road and narrowly misses a tree before regaining the roadway.  In front of them pops up a small herd of several dozen walkers.

“Don’t stop,” Abraham says.  “It’s our only hope right now.”

Sasha wishes she had a better answer, but she doesn’t see any way around it.  She tightens her knuckles on the steering wheel and plows through, walkers hitting the car on both sides.  Some hit the windshield, cracking it, and pop over.  One lands on the trunk and starts climbing in through the broken back window.  Abraham fights with it in the close quarters of the car, pushing at it through the gap between the front seats.  After a while, he is finally able to get his knife into its skull.

Sasha notices that the walkers and the motorcyclists have both stopped following and pulls over.  “Who the hell were they?” she asks angrily.

“Does it matter?” Abraham says.  “Clearly, they did not get up on the right side of the bed this morning and were gonna take it out on the closest thing they found.”

“We gotta radio Rick and Daryl and warn ‘em that these guys are out here,” Sasha says.

“Or maybe, those guys already met ‘em and that’s why they’re in such a mood,” Abraham replies.  “They did come down 16, same as Rick was supposed to.”

“Regardless, we can’t go back to that spot for the meetup,” Sasha says, picking up the radio and calling for Rick or Daryl to answer.  No one does after several attempts and she throws the radio into the foot well.

“Face it,” Abraham says, “we’re screwed six ways to Sunday.  Our best bet is to try to head back to Alexandria right now.”

“And leave Rick and Daryl to fend for themselves?” Sasha says, raising her eyebrows.

“Those two of the most capable men I’ve ever met.  We gotta hope, we gotta **know** that, come whatever shitstorm, they’ve got the boots for it.”

Sasha looks torn for a bit, but knows Abraham is right.  Without the radio, they don’t have much hope of reconnecting with them.  And with both parts of the walker herd now wandering around out there, plus some maniacs on motorcycles, they’d be better of going back to town and regrouping.  Rick and Daryl might have even found their way back themselves by that time.

“Okay,” she says grudgingly.  “But we gotta get rid of this first,” she says, hooking her thumb toward the back seat and the dead walker lying in it.

Abraham nods and they both exit the car.  As Sasha is dragging the walker to the side of the road, Abraham circles the car to look for other damage.

“Ah, we might have another problem,” he says, motioning Sasha over to look at the flat tire in the back.

“We have a spare in the trunk,” she says, opening up the trunk, which is riddled with bullet holes.  She sees that the gas cans and the spare were both hit.  “ **Had** a spare, I guess.  See,” she says, laughing a bit and pointing at Abraham, “this is what you get for all that ‘mission accomplished’ bullshit.”

Abraham looks down a bit sheepishly and shrugs, then looks up to examine the land around them.  Not a house or farm in sight, and it is starting to get dark.  “I say we hunker down here for the night and head out on foot first light.”

Sasha shrugs.  “As good a plan as any, I guess.  But let’s get the car a little more camouflaged first.”

They push the car to the side of the road and cover it a bit with fallen branches, leaving sight lines in all directions.

“Watch or sleep?” Sasha asks Abraham.  They both know there’s way too much danger around right now for them to both try sleeping at the same time, especially in a car without a rear window.

“Watch,” he says.  “I’m too amped for anything else.”

Sasha nods and settles in to the back seat as Abraham takes the front.  “Wake me in a couple hours,” she says.

All she gets in response is a grunt.

~~*~~

When Michonne, Heath and Scott limp back to Alexandria, they fully expect to find something bad had happened.  They all heard that air horn that went on and on.  They had known that the town was under attack.  But they had not expected the degree of destruction they see now. 

Michonne takes out her katana, ready to take down any person or walker that comes her way.  But things seem pretty quiet, now.  Almost eerily so.  They pass several burnt-out buildings before noticing that the church near the wall has been nearly taken out by a truck.

They make their way to the front gate, where Rosita lets them in.

“What the hell happened?” Michonne asks.  If anything, the destruction inside is worse.  Bodies lie strewn all over, both Alexandrians and some people she’s never seen before.  Some of them look like they’ve been through a meat-grinder.

“Talk to Carol,” Rosita says, sighing in exhaustion.  “We’d probably all be dead if not for her.”  Then she looks around, seemingly noticing for the first time how few they were.  “Where’s everybody else?  Tobin’s group made it back a while ago and Morgan told us Rick and Glenn and everybody were with you.”

Michonne looks past Rosita, searching for something, then snaps her gaze back to her.  “I gotta talk to Maggie.  You seen her?”

Rosita motions toward the pond, where Maggie is talking to Deanna.  “I think they’re trying to decide how to clean all this up.”

Michonne turns to Heath, who is still covered in blood and staring aghast at the bodies lying in the street.  “You should probably get him to the doctor,” she tells him, waiting for his eyes to slowly slide to her before she tilts her head to Scott. 

Heath nods, then tightens his grip around the other man’s waist and starts walking toward their infirmary.

Michonne starts to walk toward Maggie slowly, not relishing this conversation.  Rosita calls Eugene over and tells him to take over gate duty before jogging to catch up to her.  “You don’t have to . . .” Michonne starts.  “I got this.”

“No reason you have to do it alone,” Rosita says, smiling grimly up at Michonne.

By the time the two of them make it to Maggie, Deanna has climbed up to a nearby guard post to survey the damage from above.

Maggie smiles when she sees them, running a hand through her sweaty bangs.  But her smile falls as she sees the bleak looks on their faces.  Her arms cross over her chest, readying herself for the worst.  “Is he dead?”  Michonne shakes her head, but Maggie can tell that bad news is coming. 

Michonne is never one to sugar coat the truth.  But in this case, she’s not sure she even knows what the truth is.  “We don’t really know.  We were pinned down and he went with Nicholas to try to set a fire and distract the walkers so the rest of the group could get out.  But the fire never happened.”

“He went with _Nicholas_?” Maggie says, spitting out the name with equal parts amazement and disgust.  Glenn knew better than to trust that guy.  “Why didn’t _you_ go with him?”

Michonne is surprised at the intensity of Maggie’s response.  Nicholas was pretty incompetent, sure.  But he seemed to be taking Glenn’s lead all right today.  “Nicholas was the one who knew the town.  And Glenn didn’t want me to go.  He wanted me to help guide the rest of the group home,” she answers a bit defensively.  She takes a deep breath and starts again.  Maggie is just worried.  Getting defensive won’t help anything.  She just needs to explain the situation better.  “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t go with Glenn.  Rick told me to get back here, any way I could. He was worried about whatever was going down here – with good reason, it seems.  We lost Carter and Barnes and Sturgess.  David got bit.  Annie and Scott were injured.  Heath and Scott and I barely made it back alive.”

Maggie silently tries to process all that information.  Including all the people taken out by the wolves earlier, their death toll for the day is getting pretty high.  And that’s not including all the people who are still missing.

Michonne watches her, waiting for the next question.  When it doesn’t come, she continues more softly.  “He was supposed to send us a sign if he got pinned down and needed help.  Maybe it’s a good thing that we didn’t get that sign and it means that he’s already on his way back here.”

“Or it means he’s dead and couldn’t send a signal,” Maggie snaps back.

“Let’s just stay optimistic, okay?” Rosita says, aiming for calming but coming off as patronizing, which she seems to realize as soon as the words pass her lips.  “Abraham is still out there, too.  I get it.  But let’s just focus on getting this place back in order.”

“Shit!” Deanna exclaims from the guard post, causing all three women to shift their eyes up to her.  “You’d better come up here,” the leader calls down.

Maggie starts moving first, the other two following quickly behind.  They scramble up to the top of the ladder and see what Deanna was worried about.  A few hundred walkers are pouring out of the forest from all directions, headed straight for the walls.

~~*~~

Carl looks all over town for Enid.  He searches all the hiding places she’s shown him, plus a couple he has discovered on his own from following her.  She’s not in any of them.  This note is really bugging him.  “Just survive somehow.”  What the hell is that supposed to mean, anyway?  He knows she’s had one foot out the door for weeks, but he didn’t think she’d really do it.  Not after what had just happened.  It wasn’t safe out there.  Okay, it wasn’t exactly safe in here, either, but at least here they had each other’s back.

As much as he hates talking to Ron right now, he figures that he’s the only one who might know where she is.  Carl finds the older boy wandering aimlessly outside and walks up to him.

“You seen Enid?” he asks, not yet giving away his suspicions.

“No,” Ron says, a curl to his lip.  “I thought she was basically attached to you at the hip nowadays.”

Carl rolls his eyes.  “We’re just friends.  I think she may have left town.”

“Yeah,” Ron says, sighing.  “She does that all the time.  She comes back.”

“I know she does that,” Carl snaps in irritation.  Isn’t Ron supposed to care more about her?  “I don’t think she’s planning to come back this time.”

Ron throws up his hands.  “I don’t control her.”  Although he wishes he could.  Truth be told, what he really wishes is that he understood her.  There are flashes where she seems like a regular girl.  But usually she’s just so quiet, and nothing he says or does seems to make an impact.

“I’m gonna go find her and bring her back,” Carl says.

Ron looks up at Carl suddenly at that, eyes wide.  “You’re going out there?” Ron asks.

“Uh-huh,” Carl says, slowly so the idiot can tell what a stupid question that was.

“Now?” Ron continues in the same disbelieving tone.

“Uh-huh,” Carl repeats.  Slower this time.

Ron can’t believe the nerve of this kid.  If anyone was going to go look for Enid, it would be him.  But he can’t possibly go out there now.  “There are too many roamers.”

“That?” Carl says breezily.  “That’s nothin’.  I can get past them easy.  You in?”

“As in, am I going over the wall, with you, to face hundreds of walkers in order to try to drag a girl back here who doesn’t want to be here?”

Carl doesn’t even bother replying to that with words, instead letting his steady glare inform Ron of his general lack of intelligence.

“No way,” Ron says, scared even thinking about it.  “And neither are you,” he says with more certainty.

Carl narrows his eyes at the older boy.  “You gonna stop me?”

Ron knows he probably wouldn’t win against Carl in a fair fight.  But, he doesn’t always play fair.  “I’ll tell on you,” he says simply.

“To who?” Carl asks.  “My dad is off saving this town’s collective asses.  Again.  No one else will care.”

“Carol would,” Ron says decisively.  At least, he thinks she would.  She seems the motherly type in their group.

“Ha!” Carl laughs.  She mostly left him alone, unless she needed him to watch Judith.  “She’ll probably just pack me a lunch and tell me to make sure I have my knife.” 

“Michonne, then,” Ron says, determined to figure out how to best this impudent kid.

She probably would be the only one there who would really try to stop him, Carl thinks.  Or maybe she’d just offer to go with him.  Though probably not now, when so many of his group is still unaccounted for.  “Whatever, man,” Carl says, blowing Ron off.  “Do what you gotta do,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks back toward his house to get ready for his mission.

~~*~~

Daryl would not say he was in the best of shape before the world changed.  He smoked more than a pack a day and did more than his share of drinking and other illicit substances.  Although circumstances have forced him to mostly quit drinking and smoking, he’s still not a huge runner.  But knowing Rick is sitting in that tree, all alone, maybe dying, has certainly lit a fire under him.

No. Rick isn’t dying.  Daryl can’t even allow himself to think like that.  Rick has a minor cut.  They’ll be back in Alexandria soon and everything will be just fine.

Nevertheless, Daryl is running much faster than usual, probably faster than is really safe for the terrain.  He encounters a couple of walkers in the woods on his way to the meetup, but he dispatches them quickly and continues on.

By the time he reaches the intersection, he is gasping for breath and is practically vibrating with the quick heart beats he can feel everywhere throughout his body, veins bulging at his neck and sweat dripping into his eyes.  He looks around for the car and doesn’t see it.  But, that doesn’t make sense.  Sasha and Abraham would have beaten them here no matter what, but definitely should have considering the delays.

Daryl is glad that the moon is almost full.  He walks out of the woods slowly, trying to figure out where the car could be.  They would have called if they ran into problems.  Only, the walkie talkies are broken.  Maybe they did call.  Or maybe they couldn’t for some reason.  Daryl sees a couple of walkers lying dead on the ground.  Most people don’t take the time to notice, but the people in his group all have fairly distinct ways of dropping walkers.  He’s usually able to tell, just from the way the walkers died, who killed them.  And this is definitely Abraham’s work.  And he can tell that a car **was** here, but took off in a hurry.

So, they were here.  But they’re not anymore.  Daryl kicks the ground and runs a hand through his sweaty hair.  There’s no telling when they left or why.  These few walkers certainly wouldn’t have been enough to scare them off.  Daryl just knows they wouldn’t have left unless they thought they had no other options.  And at this point, it doesn’t really matter.  They’re not here.  They’re very unlikely to come back.  It’s going to be on Daryl to figure out how to get Rick home when the man can barely walk.  He refuses to think of any scenarios where Rick doesn’t make it home.  He is not going to be the one to break the news to Carl that he abandoned his daddy in the wilderness.   He is not going to sit around watching Carl Judith grow up without Rick.  That’s just not happening.  And he sure as shit is not thinking about the fact that there’s a good chance that scratch isn’t from a branch and all the things that means.  Rick is going to get home and Denise is going to fix him.  The end.

Daryl takes a couple of swigs from his water bottle and a few deep breaths, then takes off back the way he came.  He is able to easily navigate back to the tree he left Rick in, but now the man is nowhere to be found.

What the fuck is even happening right now?  Just when he thinks things can’t get worse, something has to come prove him wrong.  Daryl studies the ground underneath the tree and it’s clear that a group of people left together, four altogether, one half carrying/half dragging Rick.  He follows fairly slowly, making sure he doesn’t lose the trail.  He has no idea who he’s following and needs to tread lightly to try to sneak up on them.  The element of surprise might be the only thing to save Rick’s life at this point.

A few hours later, he finally finds them, much deeper in the forest.  There is one man and two women, plus Rick tied to a tree.  Daryl stares at where Rick is tied up for a while, terrified.  Is he just asleep or unconscious?  Or something worse?  After staring for a while, Daryl is able to detect Rick’s shallow breaths, and is finally able to breathe himself again.  He can also see that Rick’s wounds have been tended a little bit more expertly than he was able to do.

The three of them are sitting around a fire, talking softly.  Daryl doesn’t recognize any of them.  He decides get a little closer and listen for a while to see if he can figure out their intentions before bursting in and putting himself and Rick at risk.

“There’s something off about the whole thing, Sher,” the blonde man says.

“He could have shot us,” one of the two women replies.  “Or just ignored us and let us pass.  We never would have even known he was there if he didn’t call out to us.”

“Yeah.  That’s what I’m saying,” the man says, blowing away some debris on the small figure he’s carving with his knife out of a piece of wood.  “It seems awfully convenient that he just happens to be in that tree when we have who knows how many Saviors looking for us.”

“And you know,” says the other woman, much younger than the first, “there are so many of those guys that we never met.  He’s got guys in outposts all over.  This one could be one of them.  Easy.”

“So, what do we do with him if he is?” the first woman asks.

“Trade him, if we need to,” the man says.  “We’ll just keep heading toward Patty and, if it comes down to it, we’ll trade him for safe passage.  If not, we can just let him go when we get her.”

“That’ll only work if he really is one of them,” the first woman argues.  “And I’m still not convinced.  That’s a pretty serious wound.  If he had the means, he would have had the group take him back to the doctor.  They wouldn’t leave him there, just to trap us.”

“Sherry!” the second woman snaps. “You know how into mind games Negan is.  Just because you can’t see why he’d be up there doesn’t mean he wasn’t up there as part of some fucked-up plan we can’t even fathom.  You’d have to be as psycho as that asshole to understand his plans.  Just let it go.  We wrapped his wounds.  The ibuprofen is bringing his fever down some.  We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Daryl feels the vice grip that had been around his heart loosen at those words.  If Rick’s fever responded to ibuprofen, it can’t be a walker scratch.  Fevers brought on by bites and scratches never respond to treatment.  At least, not any that he’s heard of.  And certainly not just regular ibuprofen. 

Daryl walks silently from the woods behind the three strangers and levels his crossbow at the man’s head.  After he stands there for several moments and they don’t seem to notice him, he clears his throat.  They all turn to look at him, eyes wide.  The two women put their hands up, while the man changes the grip he has on the knife he’s been using for whittling to make it easier to protect them.  Daryl narrows his eyes at the women.  He’s been around Carol enough to know better than to automatically trust a woman who seems to be surrendering too easily.

“I don’t know who you folks are, but I know he ain’t who you think he is,” Daryl says, gesturing to Rick.  “So, we’ll just be goin’ now and then you won’t have to worry none about him.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Going where?” asks the brown-haired woman.  Sherry, the other woman had called her.

“I don’t see as that’s any a your business,” Daryl says, backing slowly around the fire toward Rick while keeping his weapon trained on the group.  “Though we thank you for patchin’ him up some.”

“Who’s we?” Sherry asks.

“You’re just full a questions, ain’t you?” Daryl says, aiming the bow at her directly.  “You know what they say ‘bout curiosity.”

“Do you have a camp around here?” she asks, ignoring his threat.

“Shut up, Sher,” the man says to her, turning to level her with a glare.

“What?  This might be our only shot,” she says to him, then directs her attention to Daryl again.  “I’m Sherry.  This is my sister, Tina, and my husband, Dwight.”

“Damnit, Sherry!” Dwight says.  “What if he’s one of them?”

“I don’t think he is,” Sherry says, shaking her head.  “It’s obvious he cares about Rick.”

“How do you know his name?” Daryl asks angrily.  “You been spyin’ on us?”

“It’s about all we were able to get out of him before he passed out,” Sherry says, standing but keeping her hands up.  “Look, we seem to be at an impasse.  We don’t trust you and you don’t trust us.  But can we talk it out without weapons being pointed at each other?”

Daryl narrows his eyes at her.  “Gimme Rick’s gun and we can talk about it.”

She walks over to a nearby duffel and brings out the Python, handing it butt first to Daryl.  He puts it in his belt, then nods slightly and brings down the crossbow slowly to his side. 

“Dwight,” Sherry says, pushing her husband’s arm when he doesn’t bring down the knife.

“Fine,” he says.  “But if we end up back there, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sherry rolls her eyes and turns back to Daryl.  “Where is it you think you can take him in this state, by yourself, in the middle of the night?  Why don’t you just stay until morning at least.”

Daryl sits down next to Rick, keeping his bow in his lap.  Now that he’s closer, he can see Rick’s face is covered in a fine sheen of sweat and, though it’s hard to tell by the light of the campfire, he appears to be fairly pale.  His breathing is even, but more shallow than Daryl feels comfortable about.  “You gave him medicine?” he asks Sherry.

“Yeah,” the other woman, Tina, pipes in.  “Just ibuprofen.  We were worried he’d been scratched, but he responded to it.  For a while at least.”

Daryl brushes his hand lightly across Rick’s forehead.  “You got any more?”

“If we give it to you, you **have** to start answering some questions,” Sherry says firmly.

Daryl nods and Sherry gives a gesture to Tina.  She takes two pills out of a bottle and walks them over with a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” Daryl says, taking both from her hand.

Tina walks back to her spot.  “So, talk,” she says aggressively.  “Who are you?  Where are you from?”

“My name is Daryl.  I’m from . . . a place.  Not too far from here,” Daryl says quietly.

“You gotta give us more than that,” Dwight says.  “Do you work for Negan?”

Daryl crinkles his brow.  “Who’s Negan?”

“See,” Sherry says to them.  “I told you they weren’t with him.”

“All we got on that is this guy’s word,” Tina says, crossing her arms.  “And I’m still not sure that’s worth anything.”

Daryl studies their faces for a bit.  Aaron had been right when he said that Daryl could usually tell bad people from good people.  But that was a pretty simplistic way of looking at it.  He had spent enough time around truly good people, like Hershel and Dale and Glenn, to be able to spot them.  And likewise, he had dealt with enough truly bad people to know them on sight.  The type of people that were bad even before the change.  Or those who gave in so easily to the dark parts of themselves that they were looting and killing in even the first weeks of the change, or shortly thereafter.  But what had him confused lately were all the people that wanted to be good, that tried so hard to stay good, but would be bad if it was necessary.  People who would help you if they could, but, if it came down to you or them, they’d choose themselves and their loved ones.  People like Carol.  People like Rick.  People like himself. 

With things the way they were, the only thing you could do is try to avoid those types or, if you couldn’t, ally yourself with them.  You had to make them care enough about you that they would feel too guilty to kill you, even if it was in their best interest.  These people had helped Rick.  It was clear that they had some kind of ulterior motive, but they hadn’t killed him outright or left him for dead like other people might have.  Sherry is right that Daryl’s going to have a hard time getting Rick back to Alexandria without a vehicle or help.  At this point, Daryl feels like his best – his only – choice to assure he and Rick stay safe is to make these three care about both of them.

“We’ve got a place,” Daryl says quietly.  “A community.  We have houses and walls.  Power and plumbing.  We have a doctor.”

“Sounds nice,” Sherry says encouragingly.

Daryl shrugs.  “I guess.  It’s not really my thing.  But our group likes it.  Rick likes it.  He’s been through a lot and deserves to be someplace safe.  And so do his kids.”

“He has kids?” Tina asks in disbelief. 

 “Two of ‘em,” Daryl says nodding.  “And that’s why I gotta get Rick back there,” he continues passionately.  “For his kids.  I gotta get him to our doc.  I can’t let him die out here.”

“Sure it’s just for his kids?” Sherry asks, holding eye contact with Daryl in an unsettling way. 

Daryl’s not sure he likes what she’s implying.  “Lots of people care about him.  Rely on him,” he says defensively.  “Look, help us get there and you can stay.  It’s clear you’re running from something.  Help us, and we can help you with that.”

“I don’t think that’s something you want to get in the middle of,” Dwight says.  “If you haven’t heard of Negan, you definitely want it to stay that way.”

“I’m not sure you want to get in the middle of our situation, either,” Daryl says, then looks at Rick.  He knows Rick hasn’t been very trusting of outsiders lately.  He probably wouldn’t want him talking about Alexandria.  But, if they’re to be believed, Rick reached out to them first.  He needs to gain their trust if they are ever going to help him.  He returns his gaze to the three across the fire.  “We were on a mission today.  We just lured a couple thousand walkers away from town.  But something bad happened while we were gone.”

“Bad how?” Dwight asks, leaning forward.

“I’m not sure,” Daryl admits, shrugging.  “There were gunshots.  We think maybe it was these people we’ve crossed a few times what carve Ws in their heads.”  Daryl gestures to his forehead, drawing a W there.  “The guys are whack jobs.  You come across them before?”

Dwight looks to Sherry and they both shake their heads.  “I don’t think so,” Dwight answers.  “And it doesn’t sound like Negan.  He would never authorize gunfire as a first step.  He likes bashing people’s heads in too much.”

Sherry shivers a bit.  “I know.”

“So who’s this Negan guy, anyhow?” Daryl asks. 

“A puffed up psychopath who thinks he runs the world,” Tina says angrily.

“He’s the leader of the group we just left,” Sherry says, putting a hand on Tina’s arm.  “They call themselves the Saviors.  Let’s just put it this way: he’s used to getting what he wants.”

“Yeah,” Dwight agrees.  “And what he wants right now is probably our heads on sticks outside his compound.”

“Whadja do?” Daryl asks.

“Nothing,” Tina says defensively.  “We paid for what we took.”

Daryl just levels her with a questioning glance.  There’s no money any more.  There’s no way to “pay” for anything.

“He just doesn’t like people leaving without his permission,” Sherry says.

“Or thinking for themselves.  Or doing anything he wouldn’t like,” Tina adds.  “He’s got himself a complex, like if we don’t all agree with him about how the world works, we gotta die.”

“Sounds like a dick,” Daryl says, though he’s met plenty of people just like him, both before and after the change.  Though, all three of them seem to be awfully scared of him.  Daryl tries to just sound understanding in the hopes that they’ll get on a roll talking about this person they all hate and will not even notice that he’s barely told them anything at all.

“That’s an understatement,” Tina says.

“We didn’t see it at first,” Dwight says.  “When we first arrived, we were just so grateful to find someplace safe where there was plenty of food.  We didn’t think where that food was coming from.”

“And Tina, she needs medicine,” Sherry adds.  “And they had it.  You got insulin in this new community of yours?”

Daryl shrugs.  “Dunno.  Maybe.  We ain’t got any diabetics that I know about.  That what you got?” he asks Tina.

She nods.  “Insulin’s hard to come by, Negan says.  So we have to work extra,” she says, sneering, “to make up for the extra effort.  Or I could just _fuck_ him.” She spits the word fuck out of her mouth like it’s the most distasteful thing she can think of.

Daryl thinks he knows the type.  Plenty of dealers that he’s been around have a payment plan like that.  He’s never taken them up on it, but he’s known lots of people who have.  He guesses that they’re just not desperate enough yet.

“Not just fuck,” Sherry supplies.  “Marry.”

“Yeah, as part of his harem.”  Tina rolls her eyes and makes a gagging sound.

“So,” Daryl says, trying to change the topic, “you had to help farm?”  That doesn’t sound that bad.  That’s the setup they had at the prison and that they’d probably have to institute at Alexandria.  It makes sense.  If you want to participate in the benefits of the community, you have to contribute to it.

“Yeah,” Dwight says.  “Something like that.  Sometimes it would be cleaning up.  Manual labor.  Other times helping in the bakery or the laundry.  He has this whole elaborate point system.  Everything you do earns you points, which you have to spend to pay for your cot, your food, everything.  Or you can join his crew and work for him more directly.”

“Join his cult, you mean,” Tina interrupts.  “He makes us all kneel down when he passes, like he’s the fucking Messiah or something.  Convinces people that his way is the only way and they should be _grateful_ to him.  And some people are so stupid and desperate they do it.  And then he has this whole gaggle of goons that are like little mini-Negans and think they should get special treatment, too.  But I couldn’t stomach it anymore.  He has some messed up ways of dealing with people he thinks are out of line.  Plus, there’s all the killing.”

Daryl raises his eyebrows.

“That’s the part that we didn’t notice at first,” Dwight continues.  “I mean, we were growing food, but not enough to sustain a group as large as ours.  Then we saw how people would leave in empty trucks and come back with bushels of food.  But not boxes and cans like they scavenged it.  Fresh-picked vegetables.  Whole animals recently butchered.  And sometimes, a new person.  Someone looking so shell-shocked you could tell their whole world just ended.  Sometimes they’d end up joining us.  Just as often, you’d see them a couple days later, rotting as a living corpse chained to the fence outside.”

“That’s when we learned his whole spiel,” Tina jumps in.  “He just goes into some unsuspecting community with this fucking baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, bashes someone’s head in, and takes half their stuff.  Then he says if they want to keep living, they’ll keep giving him their stuff.  Over time, he usually ends up absorbing the whole community.  He has outposts all over.  Or he just kills them all if he doesn’t think they’re worth the effort anymore.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Daryl asks, looking at all three of them. 

Tina and Sherry shake their heads.  “No,” Dwight says forcefully.

“Why not?” Daryl asks, honestly a bit surprised.  Most people have had to by this point, just to keep living.

“Because you can’t come back from that,” Dwight says, looking off into the distance.

Daryl has no answer to that.  He certainly hoped it wasn’t true.  There has to be some way back for him.  For Rick.  Hell, even Carl and Maggie have killed.  There’s no way he’s believing that means they’re doomed for eternity. 

Besides, Daryl has more things to worry about in the here and now.  Namely, getting Rick back to Alexandria first thing tomorrow.

“We can take you in,” Daryl says.  “As long as you get us there.”

“Tell us more about your community,” Tina says.  “I’ve had enough living life under a dictator.”

“It’s not like that,” Daryl says, trying to think of how to explain the awkward power-sharing relationship Deanna and Rick have settled into lately.  And how to sell them on Alexandria.  He thinks about what Aaron would say.  “We have a couple of leaders.  Rick’s one of ‘em.  A lot of people will be real happy if you help us get him back.  But it’s nice there if you like that kinda thing.  We got a school.  Houses.  Power.  Showers.  Everyone takes part, but we ain’t countin’ every minute of your day.  You can have hobbies and whatnot.”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Dwight says.

“It was,” Daryl agreed.  “When our group joined . . . We’d been through some shit.  But we’d _survived_ , you know?  Sorta against the odds.  And here we come to this community that was like almost untouched by the whole thing.  They barely seen any walkers.”

“Walkers?” Sherry questions.

“It’s what we call the dead ones,” Daryl says, and she nods.  “Anyway, some of the folks there have been pretty sheltered.  Like I said, we were on this mission today to try to keep it that way.  We found this quarry with thousands of walkers in it just a few miles from our community.  We figure they just been fallin’ in there and gettin’ trapped since the beginning and that’s why they ain’t seen ‘em at home.  So, that’s over now.  Whatever protection that quarry offered.  And like I said, somethin’ else happened there this mornin’ with them Ws.  I don’t know what we’re gonna find when we get there, but if I know my friends, they came through it okay.  Just . . .” Daryl pauses.  He’s not used to begging.  He’s always just done for himself.  Or done without.  But this isn’t about him.  It’s for Rick.  He looks into Sherry’s eyes.  She seems the most sympathetic.  “Please.  Help us get home.”

Sherry nods.  “We’ll talk about it,” she says.  “That’s the best I can promise right now.”

Daryl bows his head.  “We’ll just sleep, then,” he says.  “Can I untie Rick now?  I want to lie him down.”

“Sure,” Sherry agrees.

Daryl tries to get Rick to drink more water.  Some goes in, but most of it dribbles down his shirt.  Daryl’s shirt.  Daryl leans in to Rick and whispers, “You better fuckin’ make it, asshole.  If you kick it after all this . . .”  He can’t even continue the thought.  He unties the rope and lays Rick down on the ground, curling up next to him and trying to ignore the heated whispers the three are exchanging on the other side of the fire.

~~*~~

Carl stands with his back to a run-down brick wall, taking a moment to breathe before once again peeking his head around the corner to see the dozen or so walkers rambling around outside the front entrance to the building. 

True to his words to Ron, breaking out to look for Enid had actually been pretty easy.  All the adults had been so involved in cleaning up from the attack and panicking about the small herd that had gathered at their walls that it was easy for him to sneak away.  He had taken some wind chimes he’d found in the garage and set them up on one part of the wall.  When all the nearby walkers had gone to investigate, he’d jumped over in a clear spot.  He’d had to take out few walkers on his way here, but not that many more than any other trip he and Enid had taken into the woods.  He’d started by checking out some of the spots in the woods he knew she liked.  But he also knew she preferred to stay in a building if she was going to be out overnight.  She wouldn’t risk anything too close to the Safe Zone, so he thought he’d try the downtown area.  He’d never been there, but he’d heard plenty of stories, second and third hand, just from hanging around the Alexandrians.  Adults were so stupid.  They never paid attention to when he was in the room.  Well, the ones from his group noticed, but they didn’t ever censor themselves around him anymore.  To the Alexandrians, however, he was still a kid and so they would always change the subject if they noticed him.  Good thing that almost never happened.

He’d been wandering around town sort of aimlessly for hours looking for signs that Enid had been through there without any luck.  Part of him really wanted to give up and go back to town.  For all his bluster, he knew that Carol and Michonne truly did care about him and would be worried if they noticed he was gone.  As would his dad and Daryl, for that matter – if they ever showed back up.  But a larger part of him needed to find Enid, both because he was concerned for her and because there was no way he was going back to that blowhard, Ron, empty-handed.

He’d been about to give up for the night and find someplace to hide out until morning when he saw a flashlight flickering through the second story windows of the building he was now standing against.  He’d run straight here, only to find the walkers guarding the entrance.  He needs a better plan this time than run and hope for the best. 

He surveys the area before picking up a couple of pieces of brick from the crumbling corner of the building.  He throws them as hard as he can across the street to crash into some windows in a building a few over.  Most of the walkers take the bait, leaving only a couple for him to have to take down, which he does with his knife with brutal efficiency.

He enters the building and is halfway up the stairs when Enid calls out “I have a gun.”

“So do I,” he replies and continues walking up the stairs.

He arrives on the landing and looks around.  He sees the nest she made for herself near the windows, but the girl herself is nowhere to be found.  “Argh, Carl!  Go away!” he hears her say from wherever it is she’s hiding.  He swings his head around slowly, trying to listen for her.

“I told you to leave me alone,” she says.  He has narrowed her location down to one half of the large floor and starts walking that way.

“Actually,” he answers, “you told me you were going and I told you that you were being stupid.  Then you told me to ‘just survive somehow,’ whatever the hell that means.

“The leaving me alone was implied,” Enid says irritably, stepping out from behind the tall stacks of boxes she’d been hiding among. 

“Well, clearly you don’t know me very well, then,” he says, looking around for someplace to sit.  He decides on a turned-over wooden crate and sets himself on it gently to test that it will hold his weight.  When he’s settled, he meets Enid’s eyes once again.  She is standing next to the stacks of boxes with her arms crossed.

“If you didn’t want me to come after you, you never should have told me you were leaving at all,” Carl says levelly.

“There’s no point in any of this,” Enid says.  “I’m not going back there.  The town is dead and I don’t care about it anyway.  What happened is what always happens.”

“First of all, the town isn’t dead.  It’s damaged, but it will heal.  And secondly, it’s obvious you care or you wouldn’t have stayed to help me protect Judith.”

“The town is as good as dead, then,” she says in a flat tone.  Carl would rather she were yelling, but any small amount of excitement he’s ever seen in her is gone.

“It doesn’t matter if they made it through this one crisis,” she goes on. “That place is full of a lot of stupid people just waiting to die who are too stupid to know that’s what they’re doing.  Humans.  Roamers.  Doesn’t matter.  Something is going to get them sooner rather than later and I don’t want to be there when it happens.   I survived before Alexandria and I can survive without it.” 

“Is that what your note meant?” Carl asks.  “Life’s about more than just surviving.  You have to **live**.  What kind of a life are you going to have just wandering around out here alone?” 

“If I’m by myself, I’ll stay alive and I won’t have to watch anyone else I care about die,” she says.

Aha! Carl thinks, smiling.  He caught her.  “I thought you didn’t care about anyone there,” he says in a knowing tone.

“I don’t,” she replies defensively. 

“Then what are you worried about?” he asks.

“Nothing.  It was just time to go,” she says.

“Well, if you’re not going back, then I’m not either,” Carl says.  He knows there’s no way he could carry through on that, but he’s hoping she won’t call his bluff.

“That ridiculous!” Enid says loudly, then looks around as if walkers are going to start coming up the stairs any second.  She continues in a much softer voice.  “You can’t do that.  You have to think about your dad and your sister and all the people there that love you.  If I still had that . . .”

Carl watches as her face descends into sadness.  “You do,” he insists.  “Or you could.  Ron cares about you.  And so do I.  And so would everyone if you would just let them.”

“No,” she says firmly.  “In the morning, I’m moving on and you’re going back to town that’s the end of it.  You can sleep here, but then you have to go.”

“If you think I’m going to go to sleep just so you can give me the slip, you’re going to be really disappointed,” he says, settling further into his make-shift chair.  “I’m keeping my eye on you.  And we’re not done talking about this.”

“Whatever,” she says, returning to her nest and laying down.  “I’m sleeping.  I have a lot of walking to do tomorrow.”

Carl watches her settle in with her back to him.  He bends down to take a sandwich and a comic book out of his backpack.  It’s going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning light concentrates on the windshield and focuses itself directly on Sasha’s closed eyes.  She groans and rises up.  Abraham isn’t in the front seat, but she can see him pacing about 40 feet away.  She emerges from the car and stretches.

“You were supposed to wake me up,” she says in an accusatory tone, glaring at the man.

“Eh,” Abraham says dismissively.  “Figure you haven’t gotten much sleep lately, what with all your overnight watch shifts.  ‘Sides, I was too riled up to sleep.”

Sasha stretches her arms overhead and continues to glare.  “I don’t suppose all your time awake helped you come up with any brilliant ideas for what to do next?” she asks sarcastically.

“Ideas, yeah.  Brilliant . . .” Abraham says with a shrug.  “Way I figure, if we head directly back to town, we’ll be cutting through all those walkers we just dragged out here.  We’d probably be better off to keep heading east for a few miles before we cut back toward home.”

“Not a bad idea,” Sasha agrees, continuing her stretching routine.  “The walkers’ll hopefully be less concentrated that way.  And maybe we’ll come across a new car or something on the way.”

“Could be.  But we should stick to the woods like white on rice.  We’re still trying to play keep away from those assholes on wheels.”  Abraham reaches into his pack and hands Sasha a bottle of water.  “Drink up.  We got at least 25 miles to walk and I don’t want to be out here another night.”

Sasha uncaps the bottle and drinks deeply, then retrieves her own pack from the car and places it on the hood.  She tears into it and hands one granola bar to Abraham, keeping one for herself.  “Let’s make sure we clear this car out before we go.  It was hard to tell last night if anything was salvageable.”

After a few minutes, they come away with a few items from the glove compartment, the radio, and a blanket with only a couple bullet holes.  “Not a lot here,” Abraham grumbles.

“Let’s head out then,” Sasha says, shouldering her pack and her gun.  “Daylight’s wastin’.”  She starts off at a fast clip, Abraham rushing to get his pack together and catch up.

As planned, they stay inside the forest, but try to keep the road just out of sight and peek over every once in a while to make sure they’re still more or less on course.  After almost an hour of silent walking, Abraham calls for a stop.

“We should be good to turn now, but we’ll be totally without the road,” he says.

“I wish we had a compass,” Sasha says, scanning the surrounding trees for walkers. 

“We’ve been all over the woods by us these past couple of weeks,” Abraham says.  “We just need to head south until we connect up with something familiar.  According to the map, we should cross some railroad tracks and a creek and we’ll be in our own territory in no time.” 

“Time to put Daryl’s wilderness survival lessons to use, I guess,” Sasha says.  She doesn’t relish a walk through these unknown woods, but better to get on with it and get it over with.  She starts picking her way through the woods, carefully stepping over fallen logs.  The trees are much denser in this part of the forest.

“Heads up,” Abraham whispers, gesturing toward a solitary walker ambling toward them.

“Got it,” Sasha whispers in reply, walking over and knifing it through the eye.  She keeps her knife out at her side as she keeps walking. 

They start having to take out a walker every couple of minutes until they come upon the railroad tracks.  Here, the walkers brought down a deer and there are several dozen feasting on it or wandering around looking for another meal to amble by.

Sasha and Abraham crouch down in the foliage, observing the scene and trying to think of the best way through it.

“I say we walk around,” Sasha says quietly.

“Fuck that,” Abraham says, curling up his nose.  “We’ve already turned our easy drive into a marathon.”

Before Sasha can even say anything more, he has popped up and started attacking the standing walkers with his knife.

“God damn it,” Sasha says, standing herself and aiming her rifle, taking out a couple of the walkers shambling toward Abraham, grateful for the silencer.  As more begin to stand and make their way toward the spectacle, she continues shooting, trying to take her time and make each bullet count. 

Within five minutes, the small herd is lying dead around them.  “What the fuck was that!” Sasha exclaims as quietly as she can, shoving Abraham’s chest hard with both of her hands.

“What?” he says dismissively.  “I had that.”

“Really?” she says, getting in his face and pointing.  “That was you in complete control of the situation?”

“We’re not walking around it, are we?” he replies easily, turning away and walking over the tracks.  “I just saved us a couple hours.”

“And cost us half of my bullets.  What if the next situation is something we **can’t** walk around?”

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, shrugging and continuing to walk away.  “And if you used half your bullets, that’s on you.  Like I said, I had that.  I didn’t need your help.”

“Oh, ho, ho,” she says sarcastically, raising her hands.  “So sorry for getting in your way.  Next time, I’ll let them eat you.”

“No, you won’t,” he says confidently.

“No, I won’t,” she agrees with a huff.

~~*~~

Carl straightens up from where he had been resting, awkwardly sitting on the floor with his back to a crate.  He stretches to pop his back.  He must have fallen asleep.

He suddenly remembers why it had been so important to stay awake.  He snaps his gaze toward the corner where Enid had been sleeping.  “Son of a bitch!” he says out loud.  To himself.  Because, sure enough, Enid took advantage of the opportunity of his nap and snuck off again.  All of her stuff is gone.

Carl rushes out to the fire escape to see if he can see her, but there’s no trace.  He comes back inside and takes the stairs two at a time to the roof, hoping the higher vantage point will help him see far enough.

He sees a couple of walkers milling around in the streets, but no Enid.

“Enid!” he yells through cupped hands.  “Come back here!”

“Carl?” he hears a curious voice call up from below.

Carl looks down and sees Glenn, covered in dried blood, but very much alive.  “Glenn!” Carl calls down, a bright smile breaking out on his face.  “Get up here.”  Carl motions around the building to the entrance and races down the stairs.

Glenn is running up them at the same time.  Carl catches him in a big hug.  “People are going to be happy to see _you_!  Where’ve you been?” Carl asks.

“Water,” Glenn says weakly.  Running around the building and up the steps just about did him in.

“Yeah, man,” Carl says, dragging Glenn with him into the open room towards his pack.  He takes out a bottle and hands it to Glenn, who rips off the cap and drains it in several long gulps, then starts coughing.

Carl pounds his back.  “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Glenn says, taking a good look around at the giant room for the first time.

“Where have you been?” Carl asks again.  “Maggie was worried sick.”

Glenn’s face relaxes somewhat.  “She’s okay, then?”

“Yeah,” Carl says.  “Maggie’s fine.”  His face falls.  “Not everybody is, though.”

“What happened?” Glenn asks, concern coloring his voice.  “Did some of the walkers get in?  What was that horn?”

“It wasn’t walkers,” Carl says.  “It was people.  Those W people that tried to kill Daryl and Aaron.  A whole group of ‘em came into town.  It was chaos, man.  I mostly just stayed inside to protect Judith, but I could see them running all over town.  They killed pretty much everyone they came across.”  At Glenn’s horrified face, Carl rushes to reassure him.  “None of our people.”

“We live there now,” Glenn chides.  “They’re all our people.”

Carl rolls his eyes.  “Whatever.  We know how to protect ourselves.  Carol practically saved the whole town by herself.  Again.  The people that died – they probably shouldn’t have been alive anyway.  They were lucky to have made it this long.”

Glenn is irritated to hear Carl talking that way, but it’s not that different from the kind of stuff Rick is always saying, so he guesses he knows where Carl gets it from.  Speaking of . . . “Your dad know you’re out here?”

Carl shifts a bit uncomfortably.  “He hasn’t come back to town yet.”

Glenn’s eyes widen.  “He was going to draw the back half of the herd away from town in the RV.  He should have been back by now.”

Carl brushes off Glenn’s concern.  Honestly, he’s worried, too.  But it’s much easier to believe his dad is fine and will be coming home as soon as he can.  Besides, he’s disappeared and reappeared so many times already.  What’s one more?  “You were supposed to be back, too, and you’re fine.  Plus, he’s probably already back. I’ve been out for a while.”

“Yeah,” Glenn says, realizing he was still missing something.  “What _are_ you doing out here?”

Carl crouches down and starts packing to avoid Glenn’s knowing gaze.  Glenn knows he doesn’t have permission to be here and that his dad would throw a fit if he knew.  Will throw a fit when he finds out, Carl corrects his thoughts.

“I’m looking for Enid.  Well, I’m about to go looking for Enid.  I found her yesterday, but she’s gone again.  She got pretty freaked out by the invasion, but that doesn’t mean she should leave.  It’s not safe to be out here alone.”  Carl stands and claps his hand on Glenn’s shoulder.  “You’d better get home.”

“I’m not leaving you out here!” Glenn says.  “Your dad would kill me.”

“Well, if you don’t get home soon, _Maggie_ will kill you,” Carl replies.

“You just told me it’s not safe to be alone out here,” Glenn says.

“I’m not alone,” Carl corrects.  “Or, I won’t be once I find Enid.  She can’t have gone far.”  Carl starts walking away.

Glenn stops him with a hand on his arm.  “Two hours,” he says forcefully.

“What?” Carl says, confused.

“I’ll help you look for two hours.  But, if we don’t find her, then we’re going back.  We’re _both_ going back.  Okay?”

“Fine,” Carl concedes.  He supposes he was lucky to get two hours out of the man.  “Let’s go.”

~~*~~

Daryl wakes up early the next morning to find his three new acquaintances breaking camp.  Rick is still asleep at his side.  Daryl lays his hand on Rick’s forehead and finds his fever has decreased slightly, though he’s still running hotter than usual.

Daryl stands and starts to help with the packing.  He cuts his eyes over to Sherry, but she’s refusing to make eye contact.  “You guys come to a decision?” he asks quietly.

“We did,” Dwight says.  “We can’t help unless we can find Patty first.  She’s why we’re out here.  Without her, I don’t think we’ll make it away from the Saviors.  And she’ll be able to take us wherever we need to go.”

“I’m good at trackin’,” Daryl offers.  “Where’d you see her last?”

“We know where she is,” Dwight says evasively.  “At least, we know where we left her.  We just gotta get there and I’m betting there will be at least a couple Savior patrols for us to avoid while we’re going.  That’s where you can help out.  The way you snuck up on us last night, we think you’ll be able to scout ahead and let us know what’s happening.”

Daryl’s brow creases.  “If you’re the ones what know where you’re going, how am I gonna scout ahead?”

“We’ll give you a map and point you in the right direction,” Dwight says, finishing off packing his bag and zipping it tightly.  “You can stay in our sight lines about a hundred yards ahead and come back to warn us of trouble.”

Daryl isn’t sure how splitting up will help with that.  What if the people they are trying to avoid come from behind them?  But, he doesn’t want to stand here arguing with them all day.  He wants to get Rick home.  If that means going along with their half-baked plan, he’ll do it.

“What about Rick?” Daryl asks.  “How we gonna get him there?”

Dwight looks away sheepishly.

“I ain’t leavin’ him, if that’s what you’re thinkin’!” Daryl exclaims.

Tina, who has been looking away during the conversation, decides to join in.  “You left him before!”

“That’s different,” Daryl says.  “I was coming right back for him, and I was desperate.”

Tina cocks her eyebrow at him.  “And this is different how?”

She had Daryl there.  He couldn’t really say what is different, other than every bone in his body is telling him to keep Rick close.  He didn’t really even want to leave Rick before.  He’d only done it because the idiot had been insistent. 

“Whatever, man,” Daryl says, throwing his hands in the air.  “Don’t matter why it’s different.  It just is. I ain’t leavin’ without him.”

Tina takes an aggressive step forward.  “You’re welcome to try to get him home on your own,” she says.

“Stop it!  Both of you!” Sherry says, stepping between them.  “Tina – you’re being a bitch and you know it.”  Tina looks away and huffs out a breath.  Sherry turns her ire toward Daryl.  “And you – you’re being ridiculous.  What do you want us to do?  Carry him the whole way?  Make a litter?  If he can’t walk on his own, he’s only going to slow us down and be a danger to himself **and** us.”

Just then, Rick started to stir.  “Daryl?” he croaks out.

Daryl rushes to his side and kneels down.  “I’m here,” he says, helping Rick to sit up.  “How are you feeling?”

“Like an egg in the middle of bein’ fried on the sidewalk,” Rick quips, and laughs at his own joke, then quickly hisses and brings a hand to his side.  “Where are we?” he asks quietly, voice pitched for Daryl’s ears only.  “Who are these people?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Daryl asks, handing Rick the bottle of water.

Rick’s eyes focus up on the canopy above.  “I was in the tree and I was gettin’ real cold and dizzy,” he says.  “Then . . . I guess that’s it.”

“Well,” Daryl says, “these folks happened on your spot and you called out to them.  Then, I guess you followed them here?” Daryl asks that of Sherry.  They never really did get into a full explanation of how Rick came to be here with them, so far from the tree.

“We carried him,” Dwight says, which causes Daryl to narrow his eyes in suspicion.  “To be fair, at the time, we thought we could use him as a bargaining chip with the Saviors.”

“Oh, so it’s fine to carry him when you thought he was an enemy, but now you know he’s a friend, he can screw himself?” Daryl asks hotly.

“We’re not starting **that** again!” Sherry inserts with an air of finality.

Daryl huffs and crosses his arms, then looks back at Rick.  “Can you stand?” he asks him.

“I think so,” Rick says tentatively, taking Daryl’s arm when he offers and raising himself up.  He gets a bit dizzy and has to hold on tighter, but it passes quickly.

“The real test is if he can walk,” Tina says, unimpressed.

Daryl cocks his head toward Rick, who takes a few slow steps.  “I think I’ll be okay as long as we ain’t runnin’.”

Daryl knew that any time they were out like this could quickly turn into a time when running was needed.  Walkers could show up.  These Saviors that these folks keep talking about could start shooting at them.  But, he still would rather Rick stay close by than be off by himself again.  So, he puts on his reassuring Daryl voice once again.  “We’re in stealth mode, so you should be fine,” he says, then looks up to Dwight.  “Where’s this map, then?”


End file.
